


Alone is the Street Where You Found Me

by Sola_Ircadia



Category: Tekken
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sola_Ircadia/pseuds/Sola_Ircadia
Summary: This is what he was missing earlier, everything about this: the contact, the proximity, Jin’s presence and the sense of wholeness that accompanies it. It’s what he wanted before he even knew it. It’s what he grew to desire and love and protect. After everything, after the frigidity of winter and the chill of loneliness, this warmth is what he always needed yet never thought to search for.





	Alone is the Street Where You Found Me

It’s too cold here for all to be right with the world, and Hwoarang cracks an eye open in an effort to discern precisely which oddity has caused such temperature-based discomfort. It certainly isn’t the sun, which is bright even against the drawn curtains, or the blankets; those are still wrapped snug around him, thinner sheets and thicker quilts draped over his form with just a little too much care to have gotten there on their own. It’s the wrong kind of chill to be caused by the weather or a lack of blankets, anyway. No, this kind of cold is caused by other things, like loneliness and oppressive silence.

 

He _is_ intimately familiar with all of those things, after all. It only makes sense that he would be able to discern the differences. Winter may try to sneak into one’s bones, to freeze defenseless fingers and the fibers of the lungs, to steal one’s breath with little regard to how badly they wanted to live, but the loneliness...there is something especially frigid about isolation. Perhaps it’s the feeling of having no one waiting for you. Maybe it comes from the all-consuming restlessness that manifests even as the soul freezes over, tired and sad. Alone, in the darkness, one strains to hear anything they can of familiarity, of a comforting voice, only to realize that the one they long for so desperately is not there anymore.

 

But it has been years since then, entire lifetimes in terms of progress and self-development that have gotten him from there to here. Things are so very different now, so much better and so much warmer – he hasn’t been in this sort of mood for a while, and the more he comes back to himself, the more he wonders just why in the hell he feels so damn _cold_.

 

One adventurous hand, brave enough to leave the safety of its comfortable fortress, discovers the unfortunate truth, and Hwoarang huffs a little as his palm meets a cooled mattress where a warm body should be.

 

Well, _that_ certainly explains a lot.

 

Somehow, he manages to push himself into a saggy sort of sitting position, his body curled inward to preserve heat and eyes glaring balefully out at the otherwise unoccupied room. The sunlight is still stronger now, warm and steady behind the curtains, but even the sunlight can’t fill the empty space left behind by something that he believes to be even brighter, something that he finds to be even warmer and steadier. Technically, that incredible something is actually a some _one_ , but that person is currently not on the premises and that fact is making Hwoarang feel a little jilted. Using the sudden burst of minor irritation as inspiration to rouse himself, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, wobbling a little at the sudden gravity change and the added weight of one of the heavier blankets over his shoulders.

 

The chill cuts right through his gray cotton shirt and he shivers, drawing the blanket a little tighter around himself and padding quietly to the window, some thought in the back of his mind encouraging him to get in the sunlight pronto. Never mind that it’s a little colder next to the glass or that there’s snow on the ground outside; once he draws back the curtains and lets the daytime star shine its light all over him, he almost wishes that he’d fallen asleep right here instead. It’s delightful, really, and he closes his eyes and tilts his head back and lets the heat wash over him, soaking through the blanket and gradually sinking into his stiff, chilled limbs.

 

His mind wanders though, and Hwoarang can’t help but wish that he wasn’t alone right now. The warmth is one thing, the light another, but both are incomparable to what he’s missing in this moment. This feeling is plain, one-dimensional – it lacks any real kindness, any tangible sort of love. The sun is too far away to give any affection, the light a mere offering, a simple product of its own processes rather than an extension of any inner emotions. Hwoarang isn’t really sure why he’s even bothering to make these comparisons, what with the early hour, but he supposes that it must be the fog of sleep still wrapped around his mind that’s making him think this way.

 

That, and the unnatural emptiness of this place at the moment.

 

Because there should be the warmth of a body here rather than a blanket, gentle kisses against the curve of his shoulder, his empty hand being held by someone else’s. Deceptively playful fingers in his hair, someone’s chin resting lightly on his shoulder, maybe a deep voice in his ear – _“Good morning; did you sleep okay?”_ – and just an overwhelming feeling of everything that he doesn’t have right now. Clutching the blanket tighter doesn’t really help, but for now, it’ll have to do.

 

Opening his eyes again, he allows his whimsy to fade as he gazes down at the frosted world below, marveling inwardly at the way that the sunlight makes every icy, snowy surface glitter. It’s always an oddly special thing when it’s a sunny day and a snowy day all at once, and Hwoarang doesn’t really think that he’ll ever get over that (somewhat misplaced, all things considered) thrill of childlike giddiness that runs through him. Even now, he hears distantly familiar voices in his head, quiet laughter and a child calling out in wonderment at the sight of something so dangerous suddenly seeming beautiful.

 

The sound of jingling keys can’t pull him out of his memories, and even the opening door doesn’t do the trick, but the final click as it shuts behind the apartment’s new occupant triggers something in him.

 

Hwoarang blinks, tilts his head and listens. There’s movement in the little kitchen – keys being dropped onto the countertop, the harsh metallic noises at odds with the softer rustling sounds of a coat being shed and placed carefully over a chair – and then footsteps, quiet ones that gradually get louder as the other nears the bedroom.

 

“Didn’t think you’d be up yet.” Comes the softly-voiced comment, and Hwoarang huffs out a little laugh.

 

“The bed was a little lonely without you, not to mention cold.” He replies with characteristic slight reproach, and now it’s the other’s turn to laugh. “Where did you go? Kind of early for errands, wouldn’t you say? I know you like to get up with the sun and all that nonsense, but really. It’s cold!”

 

"I was thinking about that tea they sell on the corner.” The voice admits, closer now. “And...well, I didn’t want to wake you up just to ask you if you wanted to come with me. You know...because you like to sleep in and you don’t like the cold.”

 

Hwoarang laughs louder this time, turning around and _oh_ , this is so much better than the sunlight. Dark hair, brown eyes, a soft yet meaningful smile that’s somehow brighter and warmer than even the strongest of rays – the empty space has been filled and the cold has faded in the face of this indomitable, quietly affectionate presence.

 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he teases, and Jin’s smile widens in that special way that makes Hwoarang’s stomach do backflips. “Your body heat wasn’t the only thing I missed, you know?”

 

“Ah...in a moment. The view from here is nice.”

 

Hwoarang quirks an eyebrow at him but says nothing, familiar with the subtle oddities of Jin’s behavior by now. If his lover wants to look at him for a bit longer, he’ll let him – Hwoarang isn’t really sure what Jin is seeing right now, exactly, what with his sweatpants and socks and heavy blanket-cape, but it’s fine. He can easily use this time to do the same thing, taking in how sleek Jin’s black, long-sleeved shirt makes him look. His hair is still a little windswept, bangs even more scattered than usual, and his face is flushed just so from the bracing air outside. He looks contented and well-rested, everything he should be; all Hwoarang wants is to fold him into his arms and never let him go.

 

As if he can read his thoughts, Jin looks Hwoarang in the eye and smiles again, startling him, before closing the distance between them and holding him close.

 

“You were getting that look on your face again.” He says quietly, and Hwoarang lets out a muffled sound of confusion against his shoulder. “The one you make when you want a hug.”

 

He has a hugging face? Damn that man and his ridiculous observation skills. If anyone other than Jin had tried to tell him that a certain expression denoted a need to be held, he would’ve punched them. Still, he shuts his eyes and holds on tighter instead of responding, inhaling Jin’s scent and savoring the entirely welcome feeling of being wrapped in warmth. This is one of his favorite things right here, this heat, this gentle affection, this absolute radiance of spirit and being that emanates from the other in a near-tangible force. Hwoarang sighs happily, unthinkingly, cuddling as close as he possibly can.

 

“You wanna go back to bed?” Jin’s offer is extremely tempting and the redhead nods, although he makes absolutely no move to release the other man from his grip. Something about this must be charming to Jin, because he laughs lightly, reaching up to rest a hand on the top of Hwoarang’s messy hair.

 

“You think you can let me go?”

 

“Nah.” A pause. “What about the tea you bought?”

 

Jin shrugs, smoothing down some auburn flyaways with one hand as he carefully eases open Hwoarang’s hold with the other.

 

“We can reheat it later. It’ll taste fine.”

 

With all other inhibitions disabled, Hwoarang plans on wasting no time in getting back to the bed, but Jin stays him with a hand on his shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. Eyebrows raising, Hwoarang opens his mouth to speak once more –

 

And then Jin ducks under his arm, scooping his feet and his whole body right off the floor in one, fluid motion. Even with the obstruction of the blanket, Hwoarang holds onto Jin’s neck for dear life – as strong as his lover is, Hwoarang isn’t exactly light in terms of weight, and what’s more is that he generally just prefers to keep his feet on the ground, that you very much.

 

“ _Kazama_ ,” he starts, the old method of address slipping out to accompany the urgent chastisement, but Jin silences him with a kiss.

 

Momentarily placated, Hwoarang calms himself with a huff after the contact is broken, turning his head away as the embarrassment begins to make itself known in the form of what must be a blush. Jin hums next to his ear, selectively unaware of his petulance, and makes his way towards the bed as casual as you please. _Damn him_. It’s not as though Hwoarang necessarily _dislikes_ being held like this – quite the contrary, really, as being cradled in Jin’s arms is quite a treat and his romantic spontaneity is always a pleasant surprise – but. Still. _Whatever_.

 

His wandering thoughts are interrupted when he feels his back touch the mattress with a deliberate gentleness that seems to connote more emotion than Jin is letting on – looking up, Hwoarang sees a similar tenderness reflected in Jin’s eyes. He hovers over him for another moment before crawling under the sheets and settling down beside him, letting loose a violent, full-body shiver that makes Hwoarang snort.

 

“Colder than you were pretending to be?” he asks innocently, and Jin’s mouth twitches into one of his patented almost-smirks.

 

“It’s still a little early for your sass, don’t you think?”

 

“It’s either sass or snark. I feel like you should know this by now.” Hwoarang warns him, but Jin just shakes his head and pulls him closer, arms around his waist and forehead touching Hwoarang’s own. He’s so steady and gentle here, as he usually is in times like these. Jin is always so careful in everything he does, cautious and reserved, both respectful of the boundaries of others and terrified of what he might be capable of. Sometimes, he almost feels distant, but he truly craves the contact almost as much as Hwoarang does, if not more. Now that they’ve been this way for long enough, there are sufficient levels of trust between them that Jin no longer fears keeping him this close, and Hwoarang cherishes it beyond words.

 

Jin moves forward a bit to kiss him again, the warmth of his body coaxing Hwoarang out of the blankets a little bit more. The contact is slow and reassuring, shorter kisses gradually being replaced by longer, deeper ones, and Hwoarang lets out a soft sound, hands grasping his lover’s shoulders even as Jin’s fingertips brush against his cheekbone. This is what he was missing earlier, everything about this: the contact, the proximity, Jin’s presence and the sense of wholeness that accompanies it. It’s what he wanted before he even knew it. It’s what he grew to desire and love and protect. After everything, after the frigidity of winter and the chill of loneliness, this warmth is what he always needed yet never thought to search for. Jin is here, in this bed that belongs to the both of them, and Hwoarang can feel how happy he is, how peaceful and content he is right now, in this moment. It slams into him, then, sensing the unshakable, depthless strength of Jin’s love – he’s always known it, by now, but it’ll always get him this way. How lucky they are. How wonderful this all is, more often than not. How nothing feels better than knowing that you share your life with someone else and getting the chance to actually _live_ that way every single day.

 

It hits him so hard that, for a moment, his lungs seem to constrict and he’s suddenly unable to breathe right, grip on Jin’s shoulders tightening as he tries to get a hold of himself. There’s a lump in his throat now too, inhibiting his words, and a small noise of distress escapes him.

 

At the sound, Jin pulls back, brown eyes wide with sudden and all-too characteristic apprehension.

 

“Hwoarang?”

 

He trembles slightly, overcome by something he has no words for, and clings to the other with shaking hands. He feels careful fingers stroking his hair, hears the quiet sound of Jin murmuring to him, even if the words are nearly inaudible. Hwoarang is here, but he finds himself thinking of earlier, when he was alone in the room with nothing but the sun for those few moments, and how empty everything still felt. Even with the warmth and the light and the glitter of the frost on the streets below, he still hadn’t been able to reconcile that undeniable sensation of longing.

 

With sudden conviction, he reaches out to grip Jin by the back of the head and pulls him forward for another kiss, this one much far more intense than the last ones they had shared. Hwoarang isn’t sure how to say what he wants to, isn’t sure how to convey it all properly just yet, so he kisses him instead, hoping that he somehow might be able to express some of the emotion through that.

 

“Are you alright?” Jin asks quietly when Hwoarang lets him go, voice laden with concern. “You’re still shaking, is something wrong?”

 

Hwoarang shakes his head, the lump in his throat still preventing him from speaking. Jin frowns and slides himself closer, gently drawing his lover into his arms again.

 

“...Don’t be afraid.” He says softly, and shifts so he’s looking him in the eyes. “You can tell me anything. Whatever it is, it’s...it’s okay. You’re okay.”

 

And Hwoarang knows that. Knows that as sure as the reality of Jin’s kisses against his cheek, knows that as steady as the pressure his hands at his hips, his waist, his back. He feels his touch like sunlight, but it’s even better than sunlight, tender and warm against his skin even as it ghosts along his throat, his jaw, his forehead, his lips.

 

“I...” Hwoarang swallows, fighting back the emotions just so he can communicate clearly. “I love you, okay?”

 

Jin stills slightly, kissing his forehead once more before settling back down into the bed, eyes seeking out Hwoarang’s averted ones like before.

 

“Hwoarang.” If anything, his lover looks away even more insistently. “Ssh, shh. Look at me.”

 

Jin cups his cheek with one hand, gazing at him intently, and Hwoarang doesn’t have the resolve to disobey him in this moment. There’s gentleness in those eyes, anyway, a special kind of compassion and tenderness that would’ve made him embarrassingly weak at the knees, had he been standing up. As it is, he’s lying down, and another shiver goes through his body all the same. Jin has always had that effect on him...

 

“Listen,” Jin murmurs, kissing him once more, soft and slow, before continuing. “I love you, too. And,” he adds, smiling gently, “I always will. I...you’re beautiful, and I think about you all the time. You mean everything to me...please don’t forget that.”

 

“How can I forget?” Hwoarang mumbles, finding his voice despite the meaningful gravity of Jin’s words. “I can feel it coming off of you in waves, practically. Now that I know you...what?”

 

Jin, listening carefully, had gazed on in almost wonderment at Hwoarang’s initial statement, something glittering in his eyes before it was blinked away. At his direct address, Jin smiled – a true, breathtaking smile – and hugged Hwoarang tightly.

 

“I’m so happy.” He whispers against his hair, and Hwoarang holds him more firmly in response. “ _You_ make me so happy. You...you can feel that?”

 

“Absolutely.” Running his fingertips up and down Jin’s back, he adds, “You may be the subtle one between us, but believe me, you’re no mystery to me.”

 

_Not anymore._

 

Jin pulls back slightly to kiss him, pausing momentarily before nuzzling Hwoarang’s face.

 

“You helped save my life,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay with you forever. I’ll love you forever.”

 

They both know better, in some ways; they always have. Forever had meant nothing to Hwoarang until he’d met his master, while to Jin, it had been an undisputed part of life until it was ripped away from him when he was only fifteen. Both of them had lost their anchors to oblivion, the only sort of “forever” that seemed to be real in a world where the chill of solitude could kill you just as easily as the frigid breath of winter. Adrift and achingly alone, they’d sought refuge where they could, searching desperately even as they tried to pretend as though they weren’t.

 

Hwoarang had remembered forever when he’d fought Jin for the first time, had remembered _thrill_ and _surge_ and oh, _gods_ , **_yes_**. This was a longing he could handle; this was a kind of desire he could grow from, stronger and brighter and better with every passing moment. Forever was for the fight, at first.

 

Now...

 

Forever – whatever the hell it means in the end – is for this. For this time in this bed, _their_ bed, in their apartment and in their lives. It’s for long days and longer nights, for developing dreams and persistent nightmares alike. It’s for growing together, for learning together, for staying together. Working, training, running endlessly from place to place with errands and agendas and plans only to take their first breaths when in each other’s presence once more, _that_ is their forever. Just as long as they have that, they’ll keep the winter at bay until they can learn how to live alongside it instead.

 

Hwoarang smiles, feeling the last traces of chill slip away from him, and presses his lips to Jin’s forehead.

 

“I’ll love you forever, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> All aboard the damn sap train, everybody! Yikes.
> 
> I wanted to write something feelsy, and then a miracle occurred in which I actually managed to write it. You know that moment when you reeeaaally should let something sit for a day, but you're just too dang excited to care and so you post it, errors be damned? Yeah, that's...that's what I've done here. Whoops. 
> 
> It's been so long since I posted anything anywhere ever that I've forgotten how to tag things Jesus Christo
> 
> Mood Song: Tell Me a Story-Phillip Phillips
> 
> Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful day!


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